Tomato, Tomotta
by BlackShield
Summary: It wasn't like they could tell at first sight or anything. Sugar from the Future: the story behind her time travel, through her parents' eyes.
1. Locomotta

Sugar the Brittana baby, because I can. Her true timeline through her parents' eyes. I own nothing.

* * *

><p>It wasn't like they could tell at first sight or anything.<p>

* * *

><p>In the wake of that sudden, bursting splendor of science, of the announcement on the news and the confirmation from the grinning doctor, of Brittany overjoyed on the phone with her mother and Santana pocketing her dusty First Communion rosary on the way to a church she had avoided for ten years, Cassidy showed up pink and perfect. She looked at the world with Brittany's wonder shining through Santana's dark eyes, another beautiful baby in that first miracle generation, and Santana called her that—<em>mi milagrita<em>—as she settled soft blankets under a delicate chin.

Their second night home, Brittany watched Santana tuck their daughter into her white crib and heard the hushed words. "You're good with her," Brittany whispered in the doorway, and Santana gave her that shy look she got when something sounded too good to be true.

"Really?" she whispered back, voice gleaming and tremulous, and she twisted her wedding band around her finger. Brittany stilled those twitching hands with her own and, with a smile and a kiss, nodded.

* * *

><p>On the way out of the pediatrician's office two days after Cassidy's third birthday, Santana's hand resting gently on the little head of auburn hair that resembled no one's as much as Santana's <em>abuela<em>'s, Brittany asked, "So which preschool do you think we should pick?"

"Hold on to me, _mija_, there are cars here," Santana was saying, pressing Cassidy's body against her leg. Cassidy smacked her green sucker against her lips and looked around the parking lot aimlessly, but her little fingers curled around the hem of Santana's red shirt. Santana glanced from the road to Brittany as they crossed toward their car. "I said I don't know." Her lips slanted in what might once have been disdain, but now signaled a more benign thoughtfulness. "I didn't like Peddlebrook. But I thought we still had some time."

Brittany shrugged. "We do," she allowed as Santana unlocked the car. "C'mon, sugar," she coaxed, sharing a smile with Cassidy and hooking her hands under Cassidy's arms to heft her into the car seat. "Up you go. Whee!"

"What do you think?" Santana asked, leaning under Brittany's elbow to buckle Cassidy in. Brittany trailed a finger absently down Santana's spine. "I mean, they all know what they're doing, right?"

"Can we go to the park?" Cassidy asked with the saliva-slick lollipop balanced precariously between her fingers.

Brittany smiled—Cassidy's vowels were still rolling uneasily—and leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. "Of course, Cass, but first we've gotta get Mami back to work. Is your seatbelt tight?"

Cassidy nodded seriously. Brittany kissed her forehead and stepped back to shut the door. As she climbed into the front seat, glancing at Cassidy through the side mirror out of habit, she said to Santana, "I mean, we ceded out the bad ones already."

"Weeded."

"Right." Brittany's eyes scanned the road as Santana drove out of the lot. She bit the inside of her cheek. "I really liked Montessori."

Santana's hands flexed on the wheel. "I did too," she said cautiously. She glanced in the rear view mirror and out the window again, pressing the gas gently to merge into traffic. "But what if the show doesn't pick up?"

A crunch: the sucker cracking in half in Cassidy's mouth. Brittany leaned around her seat, lips curling gently, and asked, "Hey, sweetie, you finish your sucker?" Cassidy hesitated, but nodded, pulling the cleaned white stick from between her teeth. The last piece of the lollipop bulged in her left cheek as she chewed noisily. Brittany took the stick, discarding it in the plastic grocery bag hooked between the seats, and offered an open palm. "That was quick! Gimme five." Cassidy grinned and obeyed, straining against the belt to reach Brittany's hand. Brittany rummaged in her purse and took out a small plush T-rex. She leaned back and walked it across the three purple Band-Aids on Cassidy's knee, making growling noises until Cassidy squealed in delight.

When she relinquished the toy into Cassidy's capable hands, Brittany leaned back and propped her elbows against the console. "You don't think the show'll pick up?" she asked, although they'd already discussed this way too thoroughly when Rachel first called them.

Santana bristled at the accusation and shot Brittany a look. "You know that's not what I mean," she said shortly. "I just want to consider everything." She honked her way through a yellow left turn arrow. "I don't want her moving preschools when she's trying to make friends."

"She won't have to," Brittany assured, waiting for Santana to meet her eyes and soften.

A sigh. "I'm sorry, Britt-Britt." Years of practice had smoothed the words out, the way waves sanded down stones. "I just hate having to pick," she admitted, squeezing the steering wheel again.

"I know." Brittany tucked wayward black hair behind Santana's ear and earned a tender look. She smiled and pinched the earlobe. "We still have a little time."

The growling noises behind them pitched into a squeak. Brittany turned and laughed, retrieving the toy from the floor. "That's why you always lose _Mario Kart_," she teased, and Cassidy's little mouth gaped in dismay.

"Do _not_!" she yelled indignantly, grabbing at the toy. "I just let you win because Mami always beats you and I don't want you to feel bad." She tilted her nose up proudly into the air.

Santana snorted. "She's already learning some prima donna crap from Berry," she snarked.

"Watch your tongue," Brittany teased back, sticking her own out in emphasis. Santana laughed; their language was markedly mild nowadays.

As she parked in front of the office building, Santana pulled Brittany into a light kiss. "I'd rather watch yours," she said with a grin, tapping Brittany's nose. She climbed into the back and ruffled Cassidy's hair. "Now you be good," she said, pinching a chubby cheek affectionately. "And your little friend, too." She poked the dinosaur's belly.

"Or what?" Cassidy challenged, head tilted haughtily back again.

Santana smirked. "Or else you'll have to eat _peas _tonight."

Cassidy squealed in horror. "No!"

Santana just laughed and tickled her under the ribs. "Bye, _milagrita_," she cooed as Cassidy giggled.

"Bye, Mami."

* * *

><p>"And how old are you now?"<p>

Five grubby fingers. "Five," Cassidy narrated.

"Wow," Kurt gushed, "no wonder you've gotten so big!"

Cassidy beamed and licked peanut butter off her thumb. Brittany knelt beside her, finally scavenging Wet Ones from her purse, and pulled Cassidy's hand away from her mouth to wipe it clean.

Kurt fidgeted happily, right hand cupping his left elbow and left hand cradling his face. He turned to Santana, smile growing dry. "Maybe she wouldn't seem so big if you two visited more," he suggested pointedly, brows raised and eyes bright.

Santana shrugged, and her lips tugged back in a resigned, _what can you do_ way.

Cassidy stuck her free arm into Brittany's handbag curiously as Brittany finished cleaning her pinkie. "No, honey," she scolded, and gently warded Cassidy off by standing up and pulling the bag out of reach.

"Are you in school yet?" Kurt asked Cassidy, squatting to her height.

Her face pinched. "Duh!" she exclaimed, though in some circles kindergarten wouldn't have counted. "I go to Motta-sorry."

"Montessori," Santana translated with a little smile.

Kurt looked up and chuckled wryly. "With a glare like that, she's definitely yours," he said mildly.

Santana laughed and locked her hand to Brittany's. "That's what they tell me."

* * *

><p>By third grade, Cassidy was already a pack leader. With her eyes and smile burning bright and her long hair like a flame in the summer sun, she streaked across the soccer field like a spark or a bolt of lightning. Like Brittany, she went where she wanted; like Santana, nothing could stop her.<p>

Standing behind clumps of faded lawn chairs and parents who all seemed deathly overtired or unreasonably overexcited, Brittany leaned her elbow against Santana's shoulder and smiled, proudly following her sightline to their little miracle taking the game by storm.

After a moment, Santana asked softly, "Can you even believe this is real?"

The breeze, light and hazy like summer itself, teased Brittany's ponytail and Santana's long, loose hair. Brittany breathed it in and let her gaze flicker between Cassidy loping across the field and Santana's smooth, awed face. She moved her free hand to cup Santana's cheek; their eyes met.

"Yes," she whispered back.

* * *

><p>Two months before Cassidy's thirteenth birthday, at dinner with Brittany's newly engaged sister Lilly, Cassidy brought up the home videos she'd watched two days prior.<p>

"How could you even understand me?" she demanded around her braces, shoveling food around her plate. "I sounded so weird and slurry!"

Santana just chuckled; Brittany humored her and explained, "We were around you 24/7."

Santana cut in, unable to help herself. "Call it self-defense."

"Mami!" Cassidy whined in protest. Lilly used her napkin to shield a smirk.

"Actually, it was pretty funny, now that I think about it," Santana continued, tone mockingly thoughtful. "You said all kinds of weird stuff. Like _pasketty_ instead of spaghetti." She looked at Brittany across the table. "And—remember Motta-sorry? That was a good one."

Cassidy threw the crust of her roll at Santana, but Santana was caught by a strange shift in Brittany's eyes. She tensed. "Britt?"

Brittany just shook her head. Later, after Lilly had retired to the guest room with a book and Cassidy had been tucked into bed, Brittany hesitantly leaned against the bathroom doorframe. Around the toothpaste foam in her mouth, Santana asked, "What is it, baby?"

A deep sigh. Brittany squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, letting the bright spots settle into distinct edges. Santana's edges. "You're gonna think I'm crazy," Brittany groaned.

Santana spat out the toothpaste, rinsed her mouth, and, smiling, tugged Brittany toward her by the waistband. "I'd _never _think you're crazy," she soothed, rocking onto her tiptoes to kiss Brittany's temple. Her hands settled on Brittany's waist. "And even if you were, you'd be my favorite kind of crazy."

Brittany sighed uneasily. "San," she began, and it took a moment to collect her thoughts under the eyes that had driven her drunk and dizzy since blurriest, earliest memory. She wet her lips. "Doesn't Cass…" Santana was waiting. Brittany took a deep breath and let her face crumple in uncertainty. "Doesn't Cass kind of look like Sugar Motta?"

* * *

><p>"So it works. What do we do with it?"<p>

Santana's voice trembled with nerves, but underneath hung the same note of determination that had pushed her to the top of the Cheerio pyramid and the corporate hierarchy. Brittany shifted where she leaned against the trash can and watched Santana pace their garage.

Three checks and re-checks of the WMHS yearbook and a year's time had confirmed with startling finality the uncanny resemblance between Cassidy Pierce-Lopez and Sugar Motta. Santana and Brittany both held a gut-wrenching conviction that the coincidence was connected to the engineering project that had busied Brittany during Cassidy's first three years of life, between Brittany's last professional dancing gig and her first engagement as Rachel's choreographer.

Now, faced with the Frankenstein's monster of all dilapidated DeLoreans, Brittany wondered if her energy might have been more safely spent elsewhere, far away from _Back to the Future_.

"We can't do anything with it," Brittany said tentatively. Santana turned her head to look at Brittany and slowed her pace. Brittany shrugged. "We can't sell it, lest it fall into evil hands." A smile of helpless, contented love spilled across Santana's face. Brittany continued, smiling back a little, "And if we destroy it, we'll mess up the whole backward-time curriculum."

"Continuum?"

Brittany nodded. "If we saw her, it means she went back. For her to go back, she has to—you know. _Go_ back. From here."

Santana eyed the car as if it were about to become a Transformer and squash them like bugs.

"Okay," she said finally. "If you say so. You built the damn thing."

* * *

><p>When the alert from the DeLorean's fire-up module flashed across Brittany's phone, she'd almost forgotten it existed.<p>

She barely had enough time to get to the kitchen and pour the coffee she knew she'd need for this conversation before Cassidy ran in from the garage. Her bandana had changed, in the past fifteen minutes, from dark gray with a white pattern to splotchy tye-dye. Brittany raised an eyebrow as she tilted her coffee mug to take a sip; after sixteen years with Cassidy and a lifetime with Santana, the habit had rubbed off on her.

"And where have you been, Cassidy?" she asked, careful to avoid pulling _sugar _from her litany of pet names for her daughter.

Cassidy winced. "What do you mean?" she asked as she checked her watch and gulped.

Brittany nodded seriously toward the kitchen table—site of all Family Talks—and took her customary seat, cradling her coffee between warming hands. Cassidy sank slowly into her chair. Her eyes darted around the room almost longingly, and Brittany realized it had been some time since Cassidy had seen it.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Brittany asked as gently as she could.

Cassidy looked at her with wide, startled eyes. "What do you mean, Mom?" she dodged. Her voice had shrunk, the way it did when she felt guilty; when she felt indignant, wrongly accused, she got loud and angry like Santana.

Brittany smiled. "Who do you think built the car, honey?" she teased, sipping her coffee. Cassidy's mouth opened and shut; she stared in shock. Brittany laughed. "Anyway, did you have a good time? Learn anything interesting?"

Cassidy bit her lip and struggled to answer. "Yeah."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Another pause.

"Yeah."

Brittany tilted her head, tracing the handle of her mug with her fingertips. She coaxed, "So. Tell me."

Cassidy shot her a look of confusion. "Huh?"

Raising the coffee to her lips again, Brittany laughed aloud. "C'mon, I built it. The least you can do is tell me about your trip."

Cassidy blinked. She considered.

"Yeah. Okay."


	2. winter sketches

In the crowded vestibule outside the restrooms, Santana was texting Mercedes that yeah, the ballet was cool, but they were seriously downgrading with their choice of replacement when Brittany stepped out of the hallway and tugged her purse off Santana's arm. Santana obediently released her left hand, pressed Send with her right, and smiled up at Brittany. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Santana dropped her phone into the clutch dangling from her wrist and Brittany linked their arms together. Santana smiled, glancing automatically at the curve of Brittany's belly under her loose dress, and asked, "Did you have fun?"

Without looking, Brittany grinned and teased, "Of course I did. You know I love the Nutcracker."

"You love being _in _the Nutcracker," Santana corrected gently. "Don't tell me it's not different onstage."

Brittany shrugged and looked at her as they steered around a corner toward the doors. "Yeah, it's different, but I still like the show, San. Besides, some stuff's still the same. My feet still hurt like hell." Her eyes twinkled and Santana laughed.

"I guess that's a good p—"

"Snow!"

Brittany tore away from Santana and hustled to the glass doors. Santana laughed louder and trailed her outside to the curb; Brittany tilted her head back, gold hair slipping off her shoulders, and poked her tongue out to soak in the drifting snowflakes.

"They're probably full of toxins and shit, you know," Santana said lightly, over the noise of cars and taxicabs passing by. She stepped closer and touched the small of Brittany's back.

"You're just jealous."

"Am not."

"Are too." Brittany turned to face her, nestling happily into Santana's warm palm, and leaned in to brush their noses together. She grinned and accused, "You just like to hog my attention."

Santana curled her fingers against the wool of Brittany's coat and took in Brittany's bright expression. "Maybe. Not even gonna give me a real kiss?" Her smile tipped crooked and she tugged Brittany toward her. "We're not Eskimos."

With her grin and guileless eyes pinned to Santana's lips, Brittany goaded softly, "We're Eskimos til you say please."

"You never made me say please before."

Brittany shrugged and deadpanned, "We're having a baby, San. You gotta practice manners."

Helplessly, Santana giggled and said, "Okay. Can you please kiss me?"

Brittany grinned like a sphinx. "I _can_."

"Tease."

Brittany began to reply when Santana suddenly jerked to the side, posing Brittany's body between her and someone at the entrance. "Who is it?" whispered Brittany.

"Rachel motherfucking Berry," Santana groaned. Her hands had snuck between the flaps of Brittany's coat to cup her stomach protectively, as if to protect the baby from the approaching danger.

"Don't swear in front of the baby," Brittany scolded even as she scowled.

Santana gulped. "Sorry, it was—oh my God, she's coming this—"

"Oh my God!" Rachel squeaked, worming between their shoulders and into their bubble, oblivious to their discomfort. "Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce! I haven't seen you in _ages_," she drawled, as if her phrasing boosted her star quality. "You didn't tell me you were in New York!"

"You never asked," Brittany pointed out. Santana clutched the fabric of her dress and shot her a smile.

Rachel prattled on: "Nonsense, I'm sure I remember asking. Anyway, were you here to see—oh my God, Brittany, you're pregnant!" She stared at Santana's hand on Brittany's stomach for a full second with her mouth hanging open. "Oh my God, she's—" She looked at Santana, as if for help, before turning to Brittany. "Congratulations! How far along are you? Or—wait—" Her face went ashen. Santana and Brittany shared a miserable glance. "You are pregnant, aren't you?" Rachel confirmed, cheeks turning red.

"Thanks for bringing up my beer gut," Brittany sniffed unhappily.

She enjoyed Rachel's horrified expression for half a second before Santana ruined it and burst out laughing. She simpered at Brittany's petulant pout and shrugged at Rachel. "Yeah, Britt's preggers," she said. She absentmindedly rubbed Brittany's stomach with her thumbs, catching a little at her outturned belly button.

Rachel had slipped back into her adoring, baby-glazed smile when her eyes drifted down and caught on Santana's left hand, closest to her. "Oh my God," she went again, grabbing Santana's hand tactlessly and examining her wedding ring like a child discovering a Nerf gun. She looked between them quickly; they stared back, a little amused, and glanced at each other as Rachel narrated, "You're married!"

To her credit, she didn't ask who they'd married. She reached up—way, way up, Santana noted derisively—around their necks and pulled them toward her in an awkward hug. "I'm so happy for you guys!" she crowed.

"Yeah, so are we," Santana said, smirking into Rachel's hair, sounding strangely sincere.

As Rachel pulled back, she made careful, serious eye contact with each of them. "You _must _let me take you out to dinner."

Brittany shook her head cautiously and winced, left hand settling over Santana's right over the baby kicking inside her. "I'm afraid we're kind of early-to-bed fogies now," Santana apologized, eyeing Brittany's tired smile with adoration.

"Not tonight, Santana," Rachel tutted as she pawed through her purse. "I need my beauty sleep for rehearsal tomorrow." Santana began to ask what show she was in—age had begun to wear civility into her, against her best efforts—but before she could, Rachel pulled out a large-screen cell phone and instructed, "Give me your phone number."

Santana caught Brittany's warning glance too late: right as she gave the last digit. Rachel stowed her phone triumphantly and Brittany raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Guess who's not getting any tonight?_

"Perfect," Rachel was saying, oblivious to Santana's entreating touches along Brittany's ribs and Brittany's unconvinced smirk. "I'll call you later this week, then. Have a nice evening, ladies!"

"Bye, Rachel," they said in not-quite-unison, and Rachel grinned at them over her shoulder as if she knew something they didn't.

Brittany pinned Santana with that raised eyebrow again. "I can't believe you gave her our real number."

Embarrassed, Santana deflected, "I can't believe you're doing my eyebrow thing again."

"You should've given her a pizza joint."

"Brittany," Santana whined.

"Or the Rejection Hotline."

Santana sighed and smiled. She twisted her wrists to catch Brittany's hands and draw them up between them. "I don't have it memorized anymore," she joked. "Now we're all grown-up and old and nobody hits on us."

"You know the pizza place by heart," Brittany accused. "And the only reason nobody hits on you is 'cause you're always with me and I'm always all over you."

"The pizza place is in my phone. And I still go to work without you."

"That last one's hardly my fault."

Santana rocked up on her toes and kissed Brittany on the forehead, nose, and lips. "Whatever you say, querida. Let's go home."

Brittany smiled and touched Santana's hair at the crown of her head. "You've got snow all over you."

"And you." Santana brushed snow from Brittany's shoulder. She smiled—looked at Brittany's soft face, haloed in the theater's yellow lights, reflecting off the snow—and stepped backward, weighing their linked hands. "C'mon, let's go home."

Brittany shook her head happily and followed her toward the parking lot. "Only if you make me pickles-turkey-and-tomato again."

Santana laughed. "Those sandwiches are so unbelievably gross, Britt."

"Pregnant," Brittany reminded darkly.

"Okay, okay," she said easily, squeezing Brittany's fingers. "Thanks for carrying our baby and stuff."

Brittany shrugged mildly. "No applause; just throw money."

"Make it _rain_," joked Santana in a deep voice.

With a giggle, Brittany pulled Santana in toward her and said, "Maybe in another few months."

* * *

><p>Brittany shushed her and tugged the zipper on the little purple coat. "We can't wake Mami up," Brittany whispered, trying to hold Cassidy still and force the plastic zipper up at the same time.<p>

Cassidy pressed her hand flat against the glass beside the door and whined, "I'm sleepy."

"Can't miss the first snow, sweetie," Brittany coaxed, kissing Cassidy gently on the head and conquering the zipper. Cassidy started to pull away, toward the door, but Brittany kept hold of the Tigger keychain on the zipper and reached blindly into the bin of hats and scarves. "Not so fast, young lady."

Cassidy pouted and let her hand slip down the fogged window. "Mo-om," she drew out, pouting. Brittany let go of Tigger to pull a fuzzy deerstalker hat over Cassidy's short hair and soft ears.

"I told you: Never go outside without a hat." Brittany took the mittens dangling from Cassidy's coat sleeves and trapped her small fingers inside them.

"Okay, okay," Cassidy mumbled, staring through her translucent handprint at the few flakes of snow she could see under the outdoor light.

Brittany straightened up and wiggled into her own coat. She watched carefully, ready to spring forward at any moment, but Cassidy just pressed her nose up against the glass and made patterns with the warmth of her skin and breath. Brittany donned her bigger hat—not quite matching, but the design was so similar Santana had bought Cassidy's two years before her head grew big enough to fit it—and her gloves, then grabbed Cassidy from behind and cradled her as she opened the door.

After Cassidy's yelp of surprise, Brittany froze with the handle turned when Santana's voice broke behind her. "What exactly are you two doing?"

Guiltily, Brittany peered over her shoulder and clutched Cassidy like a shield. "Um…"

"Going to see the snow!" her daughter betrayed her.

In the shadowy hallway, Brittany couldn't tell if Santana was angry or amused. "At 12:30 at night?"

Brittany bit her lip and hoped for amused. "I can't pick when it snows, San," she pointed out with a shrug.

"She's gonna be cranky in the morning," Santana warned, stepping into the doorway of the mudroom. Brittany could see the crinkle by her eyes in the glow of the outside lamp.

"You'll be at work," Brittany said with a smile.

Santana shrugged, unimpressed, but grinned when she looked at Cassidy. "Do you wanna see the snow, milagrita?" she asked, resigned, as she reached out to touch the flaps of her little hat and the curve of her cheek.

"Mhmm," Cassidy hummed sleepily.

A little pout and pleading eyes finished her off. Santana sighed and dragged a pair of Brittany's beat-up Uggs toward her. "Wait for me," she groaned as she stuffed her stocking feet inside.

Brittany beamed and set Cassidy down to wait. Cassidy toddled to the hat bin and pulled out a green stocking elf cap: a gag gift from Puck. She held it up to Santana and said solemnly, "Tiene que llevar una gorra."

Unable to deny her, Santana bit her lip and took the cap with a _thank you_ and a gentle touch on Cassidy's covered head. She clicked her teeth together at Brittany—sniggering at the hat, with its jingling bell—and pulled it over her ears before grabbing a coat.

"Now let's _go_," insisted Cassidy, grabbing hers and Brittany's hands and yanking them toward the door. Brittany pulled it open and trailed Cassidy into the backyard.

"Wow," said Santana, eyeing the eight white inches already piled over the grass.

Brittany smiled and shrugged as Cassidy plunged out into the unbroken snow. "Told ya."

Folding her arms, fighting a smile, Santana muttered, "Well, this'll seem way less fun next year, when we have to get her up for preschool in the morning."

Brittany pushed her shoulder. "C'mon, San, not now," she chided. She leaned in and pressed their lips together, trapping a bubble of cold air briefly between them. "Just play in the snow with your kid, okay?"

She drifted away, loping through the snow after Cassidy, plopping down on her butt and dragging Cassidy into her lap. "Hey!" Cassidy wriggled, trying to escape; Brittany clutched her by the waist, laughing, and tickled her.

Cassidy shrieked and clawed at the powdery snow. "Mami, help!"

With a laugh, Santana grabbed her outstretched hands, reached under her armpits, and pulled her up out of Brittany's grasp. "You wanna make a snow angel, mija?" she asked as Brittany pouted. She stuck her tongue out at Brittany when Cassidy agreed, bouncing in her arms in excitement.

"No fair," said Brittany. She climbed to her feet as Santana set Cassidy back on the ground. "You know my snow angels are way better."

Santana sat down beside Cassidy and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, Mrs. Lopez?"

"Maybe it is, Mrs. Pierce."

Cassidy was already making a snow angel, so furiously it lost its shape. Brittany flung herself into the snow and made three quick, perfect swipes; she stood up on the sides of her feet to preserve its crisp edges.

"Dang," muttered Santana—by now well-trained—and she dropped onto her back with a sigh of defeat.

While Cassidy hopped up, moped over her misshapen angel, and trotted over to a fresh space to carve a new one, Brittany fell to her knees by Santana's feet and tugged lightly on the toe of her boot. "Giving up that easily?" she teased. "Hardly setting an example for our impressionable little girl."

Santana grinned and kicked lightly. "Shut up."

"C'mon, do your worst," goaded Brittany, sitting back on her heels. "Make one."

Santana rolled her eyes and waved her arms and legs, a little halfheartedly.

"You're not even trying!" Brittany cried. She called Cassidy over, catching the back of her puffy coat as she waddled past, and pulled her over. "She's not even trying," she criticized seriously.

Cassidy pouted. "Mami, you gotta try-y!"

Santana laughed and smoothed over the strokes; she sat up, glancing down at her work, and shrugged. "I think mine's pretty good."

Insistent, Cassidy shook her head: "Nah, Mom beat you by way a lot." She held her arms wide open to illustrate.

Brittany grinned proudly and Santana smirked. "You're hardly impartial," she accused. "You just picked her 'cause she let you come out here in the middle of the night."

"Nuh-_uh_!" Cassidy yelled. "I picked her 'cause hers looks like a angel!"

Santana lunged, trapping her under tickling fingers. Cassidy yelped and struggled out from under her.

Laughing, Brittany scooped her up. "C'mon, sugar, you've had enough fun for one night," she murmured.

Cassidy yawned loudly. "More snow," she whined, tilting her head back and sticking her tongue out.

"Not very nutritious," Santana teased as she stood up.

Brittany grinned and nuzzled into Cassidy's collar to blow a wet raspberry against her bare neck. Cassidy squealed and squirmed. "She's got a point," Brittany said as she walked back in their footsteps.

"But you said snow's the same as water," Cassidy pushed. "Y tengo que beber agua para vivir."

Brittany set her down inside the mudroom and tugged her mittens off as Santana shut the door. "También tienes que dormir," Santana warned, unzipping her coat and slipping Cassidy's hat off.

"But I'm not sleepy," she said, belied by another yawn.

Brittany kissed her forehead and both cheeks as she pulled the jacket off. "You will be once we get upstairs, honey," she soothed, helping her out of her Power Rangers boots.

Santana scooped up the discarded purple coat and hung it with her own. She carefully stepped between the puddled footprints and picked Cassidy up; Brittany stepped back and began unbuttoning her own coat. Cassidy laid her head on Santana's shoulder and mumbled quietly against it. Brittany and Santana shared a smile; Brittany slowed her motions as she toed her boot off.

"I'll take her up," Santana whispered over Cassidy's shoulder.

Cassidy burbled again against her shoulder and Brittany smiled, hand slipping forward to pet Cassidy's hair gently. "I'll follow you in a sec," Brittany whispered back as she glanced between Santana's eyes and lips, the way she did when she really wished they were kissing.

"Kay." Santana crept over the threshold and the darkness of the house swallowed them; Brittany shrugged her coat off and admired their silhouette—Cassidy's little head tucked against the corner of Santana's chin, outlined in the dim light of the foyer—as Santana steered carefully onto the stairs and raised a hand to cradle Cassidy's neck, a habit leftover from Cassidy's fragile infancy.

Brittany swallowed the lump in her throat and followed them, ignoring the sound of her coat falling off the hook onto the floor.

* * *

><p>"We can't sing <em>that<em>," Cassidy insisted in their driveway, two days before the end of her second winter break ever, when they only got two weeks off for Christmas and wasn't that stupid and did they really have to waste all of it visiting her grandparents.

Brittany pouted and tossed a mound of snow off the pavement and onto the yard. "Why not?"

The pink plastic kiddie shovel croaked against the driveway when Cassidy stomped its edge with her boot. "Because," she drawled, aghast, "it's a _Christmas_ song."

"So?" Brittany hid her smile by wiping her nose and adjusting her scarf to warm it.

"Soooo," said Cassidy, waving her shovel for emphasis, "you can't sing _Christmas _songs when Christmas is _over_. It's, like, wrong."

At that moment, Santana strode out of the garage with the other metal shovel in hand. "Mom can sing whatever she likes," she announced, mussing Cassidy's hair under her jester cap and shaking off the snow gathering on its pom-poms.

Brittany laughed and dropped her shovel's edge to the driveway with a grating metallic noise. "Why, what do you wanna sing, sugar?"

Cassidy's eyes lit up while Santana joined Brittany, scraping away the rivulets of snow pushed out from the mouth of the shovel as Brittany walked from one side of the driveway to the other. "Ummm," she hummed, "can we sing an _Arthur_ song?"

"We already sang the _Arthur_ song," Brittany teased, flicking the snow off onto the other patch of yard. "I still think it should be my turn to pick."

"What'd you try to pick, hon?" Santana asked Brittany quietly.

Cassidy heard and scampered over to them, stumbling onto the farther half of the driveway, still swathed in deep wet snow. "She wanted to sing Feliz Navidad! That's a _Christmas song_," she whispered, as if it were a curse word.

With a laugh, Santana narrated, "And you can't sing Christmas songs in January?"

A sage nod. "Alright, sweetie," Brittany acquiesced, shooing her out of the snow and onto the clean-scraped pavement. "Let's finish shoveling."

"You can't shovel without a song," Cassidy and Santana said in unison, Cassidy shrilly and Santana with quiet amusement.

"It's against the rules," Cassidy added in a dramatic hush.

Brittany's eyes bugged comically and she brought her mitten to her chest like Scarlet O'Hara. "Oh my God! You're right!" A wicked smirk spread across her face and she poised the lip of her shovel at the edge of the snow. "We better do Feliz Navidad, then, before I start back up."

"Let's do Songbird," requested Cassidy with another petulant frown, crossing her arms and dragging her plastic shovel against the ground in the process.

Santana raised her eyebrows and glanced at Brittany. Brittany smiled slowly and her voice hummed up through her throat: "For you, there'll be no more cryin'…"

Santana's answering smile was as soft as her voice, but she only got halfway through the next line before Cassidy joined in, loud and sharp and childlike. They cut off to laugh quietly, listening to her belt the lyrics out and dance absently with her shovel, but joined back in before she could notice them teasing her.

At the end of the driveway, when Cassidy had given up the cold and gone inside for hot cocoa and Santana had come back out to deliver a mug to Brittany, Brittany smiled and kissed her cheek and whispered, "I'm glad you taught her that song."

Santana smiled and pulled Brittany's cap down over her ear. "I'm glad _we _taught her that song."

* * *

><p>Santana spent the better part of an hour arguing without arguing with Cassidy about ornaments. After twelve years of mother-daughter arts &amp; crafts ornament projects, Cassidy had taken precocious adolescence to heart, and insisted arts &amp; crafts were for babies.<p>

"We've been doing these since you were a child," Santana repeated, more a warning than a whine this time around. She shook the Styrofoam Santa hat ornament kit in her left hand for emphasis.

Cassidy sniffed and crossed her arms. "I'm not a child, Mami. I'm thirteen."

"It's a tradition," grated Santana.

Either missing or ignoring the danger in her tone, Cassidy insisted, "It's a tradition for children!"

Santana glared. "And you are still my child, whether you like it or—"

They were cut off by Santana's phone buzzing. She kept her dagger eyes on Cassidy while she slipped the crafts box back onto the shelf and scavenged her phone from her purse.

"Hey, Britt," she said, softening just a little. She glared harder at Cassidy to keep her still, sighing loudly, as if her friends were about to catch her in Aisle 4 of Michael's with her mother.

"Where are you guys?"

"Still at the store," Santana answered pointedly, aiming it at Cassidy.

Brittany caught her tone instantly. "Uh oh. What's up?"

Santana pursed her lips. "Somebody's decided she's too grown-up for ornament making."

Unable to contain herself, Cassidy crowded the mouthpiece of Santana's phone and protested, "They're stupid and we make too many and we have a million frillion ornaments anyway and nobody wants those for Christmas presents either! Tell her, Mom!"

Santana waved her off to sulk disdainfully at the crafts boxes and forcefully repeated, "It's a tradition."

"I know, baby," Brittany soothed. "Can you guys make something else instead?"

Santana sighed, watching Cassidy pick at her braces with a nail, and gripped the phone tighter. "Like what?"

"How about gingerbread houses?" Brittany asked, punctuated by the ceramic scrape of the cookie jar lid. The sound made her smile despite herself.

"We always make those, Britt."

"Exactly. We have other traditions, sweetie," Brittany emphasized gently. "We don't need all of them to be a family."

Santana chewed her lip; as if sensing her weakness, Cassidy turned with bright, sharp eyes. She half-turned toward the shelves and murmured, quiet under the hum of the pop station playing overhead, "But this one makes memories. Don't you like having an ornament from every year?" By the end, it became an entreaty, laced with panic and a need for reassurance. It felt so important; wasn't it important to Brittany, too? Didn't she—

"Memories don't need ornaments, San," Brittany said, airy and tender. "Buy a picture frame one and I'll get one of you two making the gingerbread house. Okay?"

With a helpless smile, Santana swallowed and sighed, "Okay." She listened to Brittany chew on the oatmeal raisin cookies they'd bought a week ago and added, "You're so perfect, Britt."

"Almost as perfect as you, querida," Brittany answered happily. Santana glanced at Cassidy, now leaning against the metal shelves and texting someone. "Did I tell you Rachel wants to come over for dinner?"

Santana groaned. She turned her lips toward the phone and hissed, "You owe me so much sex tonight if I have to choke down her vegan kitchen nightmares again."

Brittany just laughed. "Does that mean I don't owe you any sex if I tell you we're ordering Thai?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "No."

"Maybe that means you owe _me _sex."

"Maybe."

"Okay then."

"Okay."

Cassidy broke Santana's dopey grin with a whine. "Are you, like, done yet? What'd she say?"

Still smirking, Santana said loudly, "I have to go. Our darling daughter is demanding my attention immediately."

Brittany laughed again. "Don't forget a gingerbread kit. Hurry home."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

"Oh my God, are you _done _yet?"

* * *

><p>Brittany stretched upward to brace one foot on the ledge of the roof; Santana quaked anxiously where she held the bottom of the ladder steady. "Britt, don't do that," she begged, even as Brittany jolted a little against the top step and lunged onto the shingles.<p>

"I'm just saying, she's gonna end up using it, and I don't want her to hurt herself," Brittany said, easily ignoring her concern and picking up their earlier thread as she crouched beside the gutter and pulled the looped strands of colored lights from her shoulder.

Santana gulped and, belatedly, released her too-tight hold on the wooden ladder. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, kicking absently at loose stones at the driveway's edge, and said, "Doesn't it freak you out, knowing she's gonna do it?"

Brittany shrugged and peered at the gutter with a frown. "We need to de-ice the gutters again soon."

"Britt."

"What?"

With another halfhearted kick, Santana whined, "Come on, let's talk about this."

Brittany shrugged again and carefully uncoiled a length of lights. She arranged them carefully around the corner, tongue poked between her lips, and finally said, "San, she's not dumb, okay? I think she's old enough."

"She's still a kid," Santana insisted. "What if this just encourages her?"

Brittany looked down at her sharply. "What makes you think she won't use it if I don't talk to her about it?"

"That's not the point."

"Well," Brittany said reasonably, curiously, "what is the point?"

Santana flopped her elbows in frustration. "I don't know. It just feels weird to, like, let you train our fifteen-year-old to drive and operate your time machine."

Brittany laughed, creeping along the roof and stringing the lights with careful fingers. Santana paced her on the ground; their eyes caught and Brittany answered, gently, "It's better than her driving and operating it without training, isn't it?"

Her twinkling eyes melted Santana's resolve. She watched Brittany carefully loop the lights around the gutter fixings. Finally, she gulped and asked, more quietly, "When do you think she'll go?"

Brittany's motions slowed. Though she kept staring at the half-covered grass and her toes, Santana could feel Brittany examining her; reading her. "She was sixteen when we knew her, wasn't she?" she said, soft as anything.

"I guess so."

"We've got time." She waited until Santana looked up, obediently. "She'll come back to the same time, San. We won't miss her for long."

Santana sighed and dug her toe into the patch of early snow. "You know I don't understand that stuff, Britt," she said, voice low and lips tugged into a smile.

"I know." Brittany was grinning—chipper again as she tied off the last lights, around the corner by the door. She stood up, ignoring Santana's jerk of panic, and braced her hands on her hips with her arms akimbo. "How's it look?"

Santana sighed and smiled again as she folded her arms. "It looks fantastic, Britty," she admitted. "Now let me bring the ladder over. Don't move a muscle."

* * *

><p>"Why are you teaching me this?" asked Cassidy suspiciously after they'd pulled back into the garage.<p>

Brittany shrugged. "It's important you understand it, since we keep it here and you have access to it."

The suspicion lingered. "Does Mami understand how to run it?" she pressed.

Brittany grinned. "She's still trying to wrap her head around the whole thing," she said with an easy shrug. "But she also knows better than to try to use it without training first." She tapped Cassidy on the nose, and the implication made Cassidy crunch her face into a glare.

"Mean."

"You're just a kid, sweetie," Brittany teased kindly. "I just want you to make mistakes the safest way possible. Okay?"

Cassidy glanced aside, bashfully noting the echoed moral of Brittany's sex talk the year before, and let her hands drop from the steering wheel. After a pause—Brittany waited comfortably in the passenger seat when Cassidy didn't move to get out—Cassidy asked, "So, am I trained now?"

"Yup." Brittany grinned crookedly. "Sorta. Second lesson next week, capisce?"

"Yeah, okay." Cassidy glanced through the windshield at the cluttered garage and stopped suddenly on the pine air freshener under the rearview mirror. She glanced at Brittany's casual Santa hat and asked, shyly, "So can we do gingerbread houses today?"

Brittany grinned again, wider, and popped her door open. "Hell yes."


End file.
